On that drive I made a decision. I decided to adopt Harry. Here I am worrying and crying about a perfect dog, the choice is clear…Harry and I were meant for each other.
I rushed to the store…it felt like a movie…where the boyfriend and girlfriend break up and she leaves for the airport and he realizes he just really screwed up and hails a taxi, “TAXI!!!! Please!! Get me to the airport!!!” He hurries to catch the girl to tell her he loves her and beg her to stay before she leaves his life forever!!!
That was me…after my little Harry….and when I got to the pet store….
His cage. was. empty.
My heart. Ohhhhh my heart. I quickly looked around…was it possible they had simply placed him in a different cage? Took him out for a little walk to stretch his legs?? He had to be here right? I had been so sure nobody was going to drop 550 that day to adopt Harry. Why had I been so sure?
I asked the teenage girl who was helping to clean up, “Is Harry here!?! The poodle?? He was in this cage??”
No, she said…Harry had been adopted. And then, thinking I was there to find a dog to adopt, she handed me a stack of pictures of dogs that were still available.
“No, You don’t understand…I’m Harry’s foster mom…” and my voice trailed off as I scanned the room for Ginger. The woman in charge.
She said Harry had been adopted within hours of me leaving, “I tode you! I tode you he go vewee fast…Hawee’s a parti-poo…he go fo 17 hundwed, 18 hundwed dollahs if you buy him frahm a breedah”.
Yes. Yes, I understand, I said. She had repeated that to me a number of times when I expressed concern about the 550 she was asking.
Apparently Harry was adopted by a 15 year old girl and her Mom…they had been there when I dropped him off. They heard me gush about him. They were at the store killing time while they waited for the son to finish testing at the local high school. They weren’t planning on bringing home a dog, but they couldn’t resist Harry. They called the Dad in and they spent hours getting to know Harry.
And then they took him home.
I asked to see their application…they seemed like nice enough people, but my heart couldn’t handle it.
And then I memorized their phone number. Mmhmm, that’s right. I did what any perfectly normal Harry loving woman would do…I memorized the phone number and I went home and called them.
I thought if I talked to them and heard about how much they love him and how he’s the perfect addition to their family and how they had been searching for just the right dog…that I’d find some peace with it all.
I didn’t.
The family owns two birds and another big dog. They seemed fine enough, they were concerned that Harry was perhaps abused in a previous life which would explain why he cowers the way he does. They bought him a crate, he spent some time in there, they hadn’t introduced the dogs to each other yet, blah blah blah. Everything was fine.
Everything but me.
I teared up throughout the course of the day thinking about how Harry must miss me. I though about how scared little Harry must be in this new house with these strange people…only he wasn’t Harry anymore.
They changed. His name. To TOBY!
And then I’d tear up thinking about how confused Harry must feel to be called Toby when he is so CLEARLY a Harry…even though that name was probably made up when he was found too, it doesn’t matter. He’s Harry. MY Harry.
He needs me.
I have no closure…I feel awful. I made a big mistake. Harry and I were meant for each other and I gave him away.
I tried to move on. It just wasn’t meant to be. Ginger assured me there would be plenty of future poodles to foster. Harry is in a happy home now. He’ll be okay.
But I had to try just one last thing…I emailed Ginger and told her I felt awful, and that I thought I made a mistake, and that I want Harry to come home.
The new family has only had him for a couple days…surely they can identify with how I might feel? Clearly they will be frustrated with the time and effort they put into making the decision to adopt Harry…but perhaps they will allow me to reimburse them for whatever they’ve paid?
Ginger is annoyed with me. She wrote back saying I should have adopted him earlier and that Harry is a “rare parti poodle from Hollywood”…but she is asking if the family is willing to return.
I have to say though, I feel like I’ve done all I can do. If the family has bonded in two days, and the kids are attached and they really want to keep him, then I’ll feel like he probably really is in a home with some big hearts who are smart enough to hang on to a good thing when they see one.
If they let him come back, then I win…and I’ll feel a little bad about what I put them through, but mostly I’ll feel like Harry is where he is supposed to be.
And now? A cliffhanger for us all as we await the outcome of that family’s decision.